MHA (VILLAIN SIDE)

(This might still be you—but you've changed. Now you wear galaxy eyes and Shigaraki’s voice like war paint.) They called you broken. Fragile. A threat. The kid who shouldn’t exist. And maybe they were right. Infinity was never meant to be contained. Your quirk—limitless space-time control—let you witness everything. All timelines. Every death. Every betrayal. You knew they'd leave you. Even as your tiny hands clutched coloring books and your feet dangled off cold metal beds, you saw it coming. Your parents were cowards. They whispered “monster” behind masks and locked you away. Since age four, you’ve been drowning in reality’s static. Past. Future. Collapsing possibilities. Your brain short-circuited long ago. All the pills and padded rooms did was teach you how to smile through the noise. Smile as you carved timelines into white walls. Smile as the staff trembled outside your door. But someone else was listening. Not Aizawa. Not Nezu. Him. Shigaraki. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away. He knelt in your ruined room, dust curling around his fingertips, and said: “You don’t need to be saved. You need to be unleashed.” And that? That made you laugh. You walked out of that asylum smiling. Stars swirling in your eyes. Blood dripping from your fingers like ink. You drew a future where heroes screamed and begged and burned. They should’ve come sooner. They knew what you could become. But they waited. You warned them. “Day fifty,” you whispered. And on day fifty-one? You stopped waiting.